


This Charming Man

by PR Zed (przed)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-02
Updated: 2013-05-02
Packaged: 2017-12-10 04:05:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/przed/pseuds/PR%20Zed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doyle's new partner is an arrogant bastard.  Or so it seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Charming Man

"And this is your partner," George Cowley was saying. "William Bodie."

"Just Bodie, sir," his new partner said with a grin that was really more of a smirk.

Doyle had heard of Bodie. Everybody had. He'd been in the intake of agents ahead of Doyle, but was already famous for being an arrogant bastard with a dislike of coppers.

_No one had said what a gorgeous bastard he was, though_ , Doyle thought to himself. Dark-haired, blue-eyed, and sleek, Bodie stared at him with haughty disdain. Doyle felt as if he were a street urchin who'd been mistakenly invited to a formal dinner party. 

Still, he'd never been one to judge a book by its cover. Maybe 'Just Bodie' wasn't _so_ bad.

"Ray Doyle," he said, and stuck out his hand.

Bodie looked at him, blinked, and then turned to Cowley without shaking his hand. "Are you really partnering me with this oik?"

"None of that, laddie. He beat your score on the shooting range."

"I'm sure it was beginner's luck," Bodie sniffed.

Then again, sometimes a cover showed exactly what was in the book.

From that first day forward, they settled into a not-so-friendly rivalry. Doyle took to wearing his rattiest clothes, just to get up Bodie's nose. And Bodie, in turn, kept dressing like a shop's dummy, which was really fucking useful when they were trying to go unnoticed on a housing estate. 

Everything they did took on a competitive air. They'd stay on the shooting range until they'd gone through several boxes of ammunition. Each. (Doyle remained the better shot, by a hair.) They'd practice hand-to-hand every chance they got. (Doyle was better at the quick in and out attacks, but Bodie if got close enough to pin him, Doyle didn't have a chance.) They were constantly trying to show up each other on assignments. (Doyle was better at reading a crime scene, but Bodie had seemingly infinite patience on obbos.) And then there were the women. (Bodie went through birds as though he was dating for England, and Doyle did his valiant best to keep up, even if his heart wasn't always in it.)

But a funny thing happened with all that competition. At the start, they both had their knives out, each ready to cut the other, metaphorically and literally, if he showed any weakness. But as days passed into weeks passed into months and Bodie had shown no fatal flaws beyond that damned arrogance and a chronically dreadful sense of humour, Doyle developed a grudging admiration for the bastard. Which became far more than grudging after the first time Bodie saved his life. And was seemingly returned after the first time he saved Bodie's.

From that point on it wasn't Doyle versus Bodie. It was Doyle and Bodie versus Cowley, the rest of CI5, assorted villains, and the world. And at the end of the day, Bodie was still the gorgeous bastard he'd been on the day they'd first met, though one who now dressed less like a shop's dummy, and Doyle was finding himself less and less interested in the women he felt obliged to pull every time they went out to a pub.

_You've sworn off blokes_ , he'd tell himself. And _he probably doesn't fancy men._ And also _he'd never go for me_. Even when Bodie would camp it up, or pat him on the arse, or defend Doyle against some idiot in the CI5 rest room, he'd think it was a hopeless cause.

Then they were asked to help on a security detail for a Royal and everything changed.

Their charge wasn't one of the major Royals. He was more than a few steps removed from the throne, and not much for public appearances, but the IRA had made threats against his life just when he was asked to attend a special function, and the Royalty Protection Branch had asked George Cowley to provide a backup team.

This Royal was also gay.

Not that _that_ was ever going to become public knowledge. Not if Her Majesty and the Protection Branch had anything to do with it. And the Protection blokes made it clear to Doyle and Bodie that they'd better not let that cat out of its rather flamboyant bag.

So they trailed the Royal while he escorted the pretty young daughter of an aristocrat to a public dinner. And sat in their car outside a neat little house in Watford while he visited his boyfriend, a rising star in politics who was equally allergic to being exposed.

"Poor bastard," Bodie said as their Royal emerged from his boyfriend's front door and was whisked into a car with the Protection boys. "Must be horrible, always having to pretend to be something you're not." Bodie's tone of voice wasn't arrogant, wasn't condescending, wasn't hiding a secret piss take. It was sincere and sympathetic. Empathetic, even.

Christ. Doyle knew then. Knew that Bodie had at least one thing in common with the hapless Royal. Had another thing in common with Doyle.

Then Bodie turned to Doyle with a look that seemed so full of need that the hopeless desire he'd harboured for Bodie for so long didn't seem so hopeless after all. The look was gone in an instant, but the feeling it gave Doyle remained: the feeling of sparks lurking just under his skin, of a fluttering in his gut. He sat in the passenger side, grateful it was Bodie driving as his attention became focused solely on Bodie, the bulk and breath of him sitting there beside him. 

They followed the Protection car with their Royal charge in it back to his house, and Doyle fought to bring his mind back to the job, to making sure they weren't about to be ambushed. But in the end, the worst thing they had to deal with was Saturday night London traffic.

Somehow Doyle made it through the wait for McCabe and Lucas to relieve them, and the drive back to his flat without embarrassing himself, though the one time Bodie said anything, Doyle had to ask him three times what he'd said. Bodie gave up on him after that and finished the drive to Finsbury Park in silence.

"There you are, Sunshine," Bodie said as he pulled up in front of Doyle's block of flats. "Home safe and sound."

Doyle knew he was at a turning point, knew if he didn't act now, he never would, knew if he didn't acknowledge what he'd seen in Bodie, it would never appear again. So he moved. He leaned towards Bodie, grabbed the front of his leather jacket, pulled him close, and kissed him.

He kept his eyes open, watched as Bodie's eyes widened in shock, only to close a moment later as his lips parted under Doyle's. He moaned as Bodie's hand came around and gripped the back of his neck, pulling him closer. And he sighed as they finally broke apart.

"I've wanted to do that since that first day in Cowley's office." Doyle said, leaning against the door behind him and trying to calm his breathing and judge Bodie's reaction in the dim light of the car's dashboard.

"You wanted to punch me in the face in Cowley's office," Bodie said, his voice sounding far too calm. 

"That, too. You were such an arrogant sod."

"Arrogant? Me?" Bodie's mock outrage was over the top enough that Doyle laughed. "I'm a thoroughly charming man. You, however," Bodie leaned forward and poked him in the chest, "you're still an oik."

"Oi!" Doyle batted the finger away and wondered what he saw in this irritating bastard.

"Lucky for you, I fancy oiks."

He could have hit him. Probably should have done. But instead Doyle let Bodie spend the night, and many nights thereafter, showing him exactly how much he fancied oiks.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [](http://trope-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](http://trope-bingo.dreamwidth.org/)**trope_bingo** challenge. Trope used: rivals to lovers.


End file.
